She had found the mausoleum underneath a broken monument. She would never look squarely at these dream forms that mocked the social order in which she lived, never admit she listened to the soft whisperings in her ear. Then her fingers moved. Strewn across the bed was a multitude of jumbled garments. I came to see you on my own account. He took her hand in his, raising it closer, and gently touched the maltreated skin.
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